Competition Breeds Excellence in Captivity

Zarina, 25, was from Azerbaijan, and ethnically Persian like many in the ruling class and general population. Anyone who has spent time in London or Los Angeles can attest to the good looks of Persian girls, and Zarina was a natural beauty. I was first struck by the sharp angular cheekbones and features of her face, and her bright hazel eyes. She looked taller than average for a woman, with a toned athletic body. When I first saw her in person, I estimated she was at least 170 cm or 5’7”, with long brown hair of gentle curls.

But there are lots of girls everywhere who would have been beautiful enough for me. Why I targeted Zarina was because her father served the state intelligence service, and she herself held some sinecure ‘advisory’ positions in Azerbaijan’s Ministry of National Security. To be accurate, I never found any evidence that she was directly responsible for repressive measures or human rights violations. Still, she was guilty enough by association, as far as I was concerned. 

Neither Zarina nor her father were at the top of their respective institutions, but they were high enough up to no longer claim that they were just “following orders” or that “it was just a job.” On the other hand, I knew I was merely one man and I was not about bring an entire country’s security apparatus down on me. So kidnapping a girl in the family of someone like the President or anyone actually in charge of the intelligence or military services was out of the question. I still had some friends in messy countries all around the globe who I could reach out to for support, or if I really found myself in a jam. But I did not want to risk letting anyone know that I was the one responsible for Zarina’s kidnapping. Thus, I understood from the start that I would have to plan and carry out the operation alone.

I planned a classic roadside ambush to capture Zarina. It may come as a surprise to many, but, even in dictatorial regimes, officials’ schedules are sometimes posted or announced online. In this case, Zarina would be coming back from a dog-and-pony show of support and strength on the border of the region called Nagorno-Karabakh. Every country loves its propaganda, and some local official was probably proud that a dignitary like Zarina, the ‘deputy adviser,’ was coming to see the ‘good work’ he had done. The region was the site of both an independence movement and a bloody monthlong war with neighboring Armenia in the fall of 2020. Independent investigations uncovered war crimes perpetrated by both sides, with many directly carried out by Zarina’s Ministry of National Security. Sporadic fighting continues to this day, but the general sentiment in Azerbaijan was that they won the war. Because Russian peacekeepers had been deployed, I predicted correctly that the situation was safe enough to send Zarina without a heavily armed escort.

I entered and exited Azerbaijan from Georgia, as it was a relatively free country, compared to its neighbors, and had some decent relations with the West. Then again, my other options were Iran, Russia, and the DMZ with Armenia. I scouted the routes I expected Zarina to drive along and found several suitable bends in the road where her drivers would not spot me until it was too late. Afterwards I made my way to the capital of Baku, where Zarina lived, to track her from a distance and study her pattern of life. 

Zarina’s lifestyle turned out to be that of a fairly typical twenty-something from the ruling class, who had yet to work a hard day in her life. But she was no empty-headed rich girl either. Zarina was undoubtably being groomed, probably by her family or higher-ups, for taking over serious positions of responsibility one day. For now she was being taken around as a fly-on-the-wall, but she was in meetings and shadowing some relatively important people in her government. The packet of research I built on her included photographs and athletic rosters from the international schools she was sent to, where the primary instruction was all in English. Of note was a Swiss boarding school of fair renown and shocking expense. I could not tell whether Zarina actually worked hard in school, but she was listed as having won both academic and athletic medals and trophies (though in third-world countries I know to be suspicious that these are rigged for the ruling class). What was most clear to me after more than two weeks of tailing her was that she looked as good as she did in her photos.  

Another thing that I was glad to see was that Zarina undeniably did not know a thing about personal security. Baku itself was swarming with state security measures and henchmen. I was constantly checking to see if I had a tail, but Zarina never took any of the measures that I did. Then again, she had no reason to worry. I was the one who was probably connected to illegal arms purchases in the capital, no matter what precautions I took to avoid meetings in person.

I had reasonably plausible cover being seen there on business, as third-world countries are always hungry for foreign investors from the West and meetings with them create a sense of legitimacy. 60% of Azerbaijani’s economic income comes from oil and gas, with Baku the capital situated on an oil field. I sat through enough bullshit presentations, smiled and shook hands to put myself at least in the proximity of the places of power where Zarina would be. But I never came close to meeting her face-to-face before her fateful day on the road from Nagorno-Karabakh.